Rosehead

Chapter 21. The Fatal Therapy Session

As transparent as the mansion was on its ground floor, decorated with glass and crystal, as white as it was on the second and red on the third, its fourth floor was completely and utterly black. Polished dark stone encased a circular room, about thirty feet in diameter. Illuminated by individual spotlights, golden frames with awards to Bloom & Co. crowded the wall. In the middle of the floor, on top of a furry rug, three leather chairs surrounded a desk with a gilded lamp and an old rotary phone, which explained the mystery of Alfred's communication with the world. Black curtains draped the windows shut. 

Reminded of her first impression about the mansion being a tomb, Lilith took a nervous step forward.

"Here we are, Liliz. How very, very gracious of your grandfazer to let us uze hiz study. Zis iz ze only room where we can have privacy. It iz soundproof," said Wilhelmus in the cheery way an executioner might boast about his torture chamber. He shut the door.

Lilith's throat constricted. She wondered if anyone would hear her yell, on the off chance there was a need to. The room pressed down, sending her a signal that she didn't belong here with her silly blue beret.

Unperturbed by his patient's silence, the doctor sauntered to the desk, dropped into the chair, and—whistling some merry tune—shifted the phone receiver to make it ring as busy. Next he ruffled through the contents of his case, finally holding up a piece of paper with a loud, "Aha!"

Lilith sunk into the chair opposite him.

"Zo," the doctor proclaimed, leaning over the desk. "How very, very delightful to meet you, Liliz Bloom."

"It's Lilith," she said coolly, thinking that if he said the word very one more time, she'd have to restrain herself from saying a very rude remark.

"Pardon me. Liliz it iz."

Lilith sighed.

"Tell me about yourself." Wilhelmus assumed a professional stance: the expectant face, the calm anticipation, but no empathy, only a heightened curiosity attributed to such a colorful subject to work on. Lilith's typical fare.

She bit her lip. Time ran short. She couldn't afford to spend it on her own insecurities when other people's lives were in danger. After all, she'd soon become heir to the entire Bloom property, and it was her responsibility to start behaving like one now, wasn't it? You know my methods, Sherlock Holmes would've said, apply them!

Lilith smoothed her skirt, adjusted her beret, and went ahead with ferocity typically reserved for dire situations.

"Excuse me, dear Wilhelmus Baumgartner," she said politely, "you said you were a very, very busy man. I'd like to assure you that I'm also a very, very busy girl. Let's not waste each other's time. You're doing a favor to your friend, and I'm doing a favor to my parents. We both despise it. We both would rather be doing something else."

Wilhelmus blinked.

"In light of these facts," Lilith continued, "may I ask you, what exactly do you wish to know, which you currently don't?" She pointed to the paper.

A heavy pause stretched to a breaking point, but then the doctor's eyes sparkled, and he cracked a fake smile.

"You are, indeed, a true Bloom." He snapped his fingers.

"I'm delighted to have amused you," said Lilith.

"Very, very well."

She cringed.

"Az you wish. We'll go straight to your diagnosis." He consulted the paper. "Severe attention deficit dizorder, attention deficit hyperactivity dizorder, borderline Asperger syndrome, inability to connect with people suggesting potential placement in ze autizm spectrum, depression, panic attacks, anxiety, onset diagnozed at age five..." He scanned the document, mumbling under his breath. "How very, very interesting. A very nice bouquet."